Hem Raj Bastola 

Temblor
Split wall,
A thought in debris,
Friction to friction
Dead wood was a beam.
Tiller of a house now,
Stands an obelisk:
Of a historic
Buildings.

A dream
From debris
Drawing a map
To stand again, but
Raised again a building
A lacking presence
Is the plight of:
Our pride.

When,
I try to be frugal
To explain about
The fate of a heritage
And mute curse of history
Is still asking
The attention of
The concerned
Ears.

 

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